Saturday

11/28/09

Yesterday I went to the first A.A. meeting that actually had an impact on me. I have only been to two others in my life. The first was when I was 15 or so, I had been forced to go to this meeting by the court not because I had a problem with alcohol but because I had started to have a problem with pot. I suppose that the judge knew better than I as to what path I would choose in my following years. I was impressed by the amount of coffee and smoke that filled the room with their rich aromas while people much older than me took turns introducing themselves and the fact that they were an alcoholic. Each introduction followed by a rumbling; “Hi so and so!”

I grew more and more nervous as the circle of introductions neared my seat person by person. I was able to get out in a soft voice;

“Hi, my name is Tom and my drug of choice is Marijuana.”

They roared; “Hi Tom!”

I took a sip of my steaming coffee as the circle completed itself. Everything was pretty laid back and despite being underage I was able to smoke and fill my coffee as I pleased. Names were called out and various colors of chips were handed to those whose’ names had been called, some of the poker chips being worth more than 25 years. After the deal it became an open pot for those that wanted to anti up their feelings. I listened to the stories but was more focused on my coffee and cigarettes. The court ordered hour passed quickly for me, most people milled about in the great room conversing with each other while I headed for the door. I exited that casino and stepped into my mothers’ car that was in the same spot when she dropped me off.

“How was it?” She asked.

I replied with an “Okay” as we started to drive through the rain west on Link Lane towards the less but still seedy Northern part of Fort Collins, CO. Looking back on it now I should have been remorseful and grateful towards my mom whom had to come get me from the School Resource Officers Office some months before when I had decided to get high at Ross Borough park before meeting up with her and my sister for my mothers birthday dinner. She was crushed and astonished at my selfishness. I didn’t get it. I thought to myself;

“I wasn’t going to be high by the time we went to dinner.”

I continued from there to gamble with the feelings of my loved ones pouring myself blindly into the pot.

My second experience with being anonymous took place years later well into my third and biggest stint in jail. It too was held in a big room however the smell in this room wasn’t that of coffee and cigarettes but of rubber mats and basketballs. I had decided to go out of pure boredom, anything to change the monotony of the daily jail routine. I had heard a lot of people throughout this term in jail say;

“You’ve got to have a program, or you’ll go crazy man! Get a program.”

I dint get it, I had a program 56, 57, 58…

This meeting started out very much the same as the previous meeting I had been to but there were no poker chips and every one had the same book. After a brief reading that mentioned God enough times to make me cringe the introductions began. Very much the same other than the “Hello So and So’s” switch backing through the seven rows of ten or so chairs slightly off center from the free through line under the visitors basket seemed to be swallowed by the concrete block walls even in that acoustically proficient jail house Gymnasium. My turn came soon this meeting and I had no problem saying;

“My name is Tom and I am an Alcoholic”

By this point I knew I was and I was cool with that, it was just the damn courts that were making my life tough. I was also comfortable in the realization that we he had all been dealt the same shitty hand. This was a “speakers” meeting and I was fortunate enough to hear some really powerful stories from the two men who had hit their rock bottom and eventually bounced back only returning to that gym through the front door to inflate who ever would listen with hope. I left that meeting through the back door in the same single file line that I had arrived in but with a little more air in my heart than I had arrived with. I never returned despite my abundance of “free” time. I had a program, I was sober and doing quite well at nurturing my disease while it was forced to hibernate.

After two days of a mindless sobriety to take the heat off at work and give my body a break I was fortunate enough to spend my third day coherently participating in one of the best thanksgivings of my life, something that would have been impossible without the previous 48 hour furlough. I reluctantly went to work the day after Thanksgiving and continued my undeserved but non the less sober bitchings about having to work. My boss had been doing everything he could to help me get healthy and stop drinking, he had said some days before;

“I would rather have a car in the shop than broken on the street.”

He was concerned about me and confided in me that his cousin was an alcoholic that hadn’t drank in some years and that he would speak with her for me. I arrived at the office early that Friday morning and spoke with my boss, we exchanged formalities asking each other how our Thanksgivings had been and he asked me if I had drank. I informed him that mine was great and that I had not. He said that he had spoke to his cousin and that she wanted me to call her so I did. She asked me if I was available to meet up around 1:00 P.M. Not knowing my work schedule for the day and assuming that my boss knew about it I said “Sure” She gave me her address and said see you then. I told my boss how the conversation went and he said good, but he was surprised that I had made plans with her for later that day. He quietly accepted my appointment whilst planning my day in his head and translating the schedule in Hebrew to the dispatcher. I never knew where they were going to send me not until they did. The dispatcher relayed to me in accented English;

“Okay, Thomas, I need you to go such and such address, they have a problem with their such and such, Call me when you get there…”

After bouncing around to a few different jobs that were thankfully inManhattanI called the dispatcher around noon informing her that I had finished wherever I had been. She said;

“Exellent!”

I could hear eyes searching the computer for another job, She asked what part of town I needed to be in at 1:00 and then reluctantly said;

“Okay, go there and call me when you’re done because I have more jobs that I need to send you to.”

I couldn’t believe it, Hadn’t my boss told her, didn’t he know that I was in a fragile state, I didn’t want to go meet with his cousin, I wanted to go hang out with my brother and sister and have good quality time with family, more than anything I wanted to go home and drink. I stewed in my thoughts as I made my way to the EastVillage, trudged through the Astor Plsubway station on the way to my next job at East 9^th between Bowery and 3^rd Ave. I called my bosses cousin and she informed me that she would be right down, the doorman asked who I was waiting for and allowed me to sit on the fancy couch when I gave him the name. This was a nice building with uppity residences in a bustle to be waited on. I resigned myself to just meet with this lady and appease my boss. She was late, how could she be late? She was upstairs… Finally she came down and in true New York Fashion was not the least bit concerned in lengthy introductions she briefly barked orders at the doorman and then we were out the door, She said she thought we would go to an A.A. meeting over on East 12^th street and looked at her watch. Shit, I had thought we were just going to go sit down somewhere get some grub and talk… We briskly walked and I answered her questions in an accepting of help politeness that I had discovered to serve me well to just get through these chores. I was at work, I had my game face on, anything to get me home to my mistress A.S.A.P. I didn’t have a desire to stop drinking all together I had the desire to calm the waters. The meeting was in a half above half below street level room on East 12^th between 3^rd and 2^nd Avenues. I followed My Bosses cousin down the half flight of stairs, she was very nice in that unique toNew York City kind of assertive way. It was a step meeting and 12 x 12’s were laid out on the collapsible metal chairs. The meeting started and the introductions all included;

“My name is so and so, I am an alcoholic and I have X days sober”

“Hello So and So”

Despite being nervous I was able to proudly get out;

“My name is Tom, I am an Alcoholic and I have three days clean.”

I only counted full finished days just as I had in jail.

“Hello Tom”

I felt okay in this meeting one because I hadn’t drank for a few days, two because I had gone with someone who seemed to know people there and three because I wasn’t stressing about work. Right from the start of the meeting the most important part to me was the couple of pretty chicks and how I was going to play it cool and hopefully get some good eye contact. I soon realized that the meeting and the reading was far more important to the ladies than eye contact with me. This weeks reading was step seven, volunteers took turns reading paragraphs and despite the numerous mentioning’s of God and a Higher Power that made me sick with shivers every time I heard them or when they seemed to jump off the page towards me turning all of the other text into Sanskrit, I was just relieved that I didn’t have to read aloud, even though I was mentally preparing myself to do so as if to assert my confidence in front of the opposite sex. I tried to listen and feel that I did pay attention to the reading when I wasn’t overwhelmed and even enjoyed it. When the reading was over the meeting turned into an open discussion about humility and being humble, and the shares were great to listen to and really got me involved into thought about what had been read and what was being said. Some touched on experiences of being humiliated and others about being humbled and the discussion took on a tone of the difference between the two. By the time I felt that I had grasped what the topic of the meeting was and became humbly willing to wow the crowd with my insight, others spoke up quickly and I was unable to share my experience with the meeting. I had wanted to share that just this past week I had experienced both in a very strong way. I hadn’t thought anything about it until this meeting.

My brother had been and was still in town for the holiday. Whilst my sister prepared for Dinner with her boyfriend and his family that we were to be guests at and why I was on special request to not drink, my brother and I  got to spend some real quality time together Thanksgiving morning. I hadn’t seen him for nearly a year and not since we had learned that my father was dying of liver failure. We were able to speak truly about this for the first time. He said he had been to see him and that he doesn’t look well and that his house was pretty much unlivable with beer cans knee high and no noticeable trails to anywhere. I was humbled by my brothers true concern and sorrow over the state of our father. I had never heard him speak with such concern and sadness about him. I had never seen my brother truly sad like this ever before. I don’t think I confided to my brother that some of my first thoughts when I heard my dad was pretty much dying and for some reason still were;

“Oh, that’s too bad, I wonder what if anything will I get when he dies.”

We wondered down Columbus Avenuefrom my sisters’ apartment at 70^th towards Columbus Circle catching glimpses of the giant Macys Thanksgiving Day Parade inflatable’s on Central Park West. He had seen where I was living the previous Thanksgiving but was intent on buying me a mattress after learning that I had been sleeping on a popped inflatable for some months now. So after the parade passed and being amazed at how fast the workers cleaned up and reopened CPW we hopped on the up town C at 70^th street. We got to my neighborhood and went to the discount furniture store to test out the different cheap mattresses and make sure that they would be suitable for entertaining the ladies just as we hade some years before when I moved into the Lone Pine. We joked around and he bought me a twin mattress for 100 bucks. He bought it and I hauled it on my back the four or so blocks to my apartment on Edgecombe Avenue at 158^th street. He opened the door to my bedroom shook his head and in a joking southern draw he said;

“Oh-no, He’s drinking way too much! Way too much!”

I laughed and exclaimed;

“It’s not that bad I just haven’t cleaned for awhile!”

I shoved the empty beer cans that were encroaching onto my deflated mattress back into the heap and pointed out that my down comforter was actually pretty thick. I was humiliated in thought that my room was just like my fathers house. I was just like him. I was humbled by my brothers generosity to buy me the mattress under the guise of an early Christmas present. He was truly concerned about me. It must have killed him inside to see how I had been living. I was oblivious. My room wasn’t even that bad, he should have seen it last week! I was in an odd proud state of my life and the fact that I had moved to New Yorkand was supporting myself. I was excited to show him The Bronx and where I had been working so I thanked my brother for the mattress and ensured him that I would unpack and set it up Sunday when he was gone and after I had cleaned. We waited on the slower than slow elevator to rise to the sixth floor and then back down again. With Yankee stadium on our left we were off. Heading down Edgecombe Ave towards the Bronx bound D on 8^th Avenue at 155^th I began to reenact my daily routine and playing the part of his personal tour guide to some of the more cultured parts of NYC He loved the Bronx even though it was pretty much dead compared to a normal Thursday. I was very proud to be showing my brother around and feeling comfortable in the neighborhoods that I had begun to spend a lot of time working in.

After the meeting My bosses cousin introduced me to the guy that had been leading the meeting. He was in his early thirties and seemed cool and like he had his shit together. He asked if I was fromColoradoand I excitedly told him yes and was stoked that he recognized the shirt that I had been wearing. He gave me a large manila envelope packed with all kinds of papers and made me take his number.

“It was nice to meet you Tom, I want you to call me tonight.”

“It was nice to meet you to So and So, uh, okay I’ll call you.”

With that my boss’ cousin and I left the room climbed up the seven steps and began walking but this time with out the sense of urgency that we had been just an hour ago. My phone began to vibrate with phone calls, first the office then the unavoidable call from my boss. I apologized to my new friend and told her that it was my boss and that I had to get it. He asked how it was going and when I thought I would be done. I told him that it was going well and that I would probably be done in about an hour and that I would call the dispatcher as soon as I was finished. He softly said okay as he does when he is disappointed but realizes “It is what it is” We went to a coffee shop on east 8^th that I used to pass all of the time when living with my Sister on East 9^th my first few months in NYC. She bought me coffee and told me her story. She was great and so nice. I was really glad to have met her, I walked with her back to her building as se assured me that she was going to get me connected and that it was going to be great and telling me of all kinds of meetings that I could start going to. We said our good byes and she told me to call So and So tonight and that I should call her tomorrow. I said Okay I will.

I felt really good and up beat about life after that two hour chore and was excited to get home and write about my new insight into humility. I called the office and they just sent me home after all of the rush and pressure to finish quickly. I went home feeling upset about that and with reservations about calling these strangers but generally in a good mood.

TGIF, I went home, tossed my Newcomers packet on the bottom shelf, cleaned my room and set up my new twin mattress over a case of beer.

Wednesday, 20 October 2010

After two nights of combative arguments over sending me to troubleshooting jobs at the end of the day with the dispatcher at work I arrived at the office Wednesday morning. Feeling Confident in my stance and having a normal head, meaning not still drunk from the night before I explained to the owner of the company as to what had happened there, what I had done and why I was unable to fix the elevator camera in a posh Downtown NYC eleven story building.  Having struggled with the elevator and camera until around 6:00 the past two evenings I left the building with the elevator inoperable and in a huff. I being pissed off at the dispatcher that I was to arrive home later than normal cutting into my drinking time. A general state of resentment whooshed up the stairs as I stormed into the subway at Broadway Nassau to catch the uptown C.

Sensing the tension between me and the dispatcher the owner walked me outside and asked the familiar question.

“What’s going on with your drinking? You were drinking last night?”

I answered in the positive with a sense of entitlement that that had nothing to do with the elevator job and that I was ready for work today. He spoke to me in a concerned way.

“Go home and eat something, don’t drink, just eat something.”

I had only been back in NYC from a refreshing vacation in Southern California for three weeks but I was broken. I was lonely and miserable. Fighting the tears I did my best to explain to my boss that I was unable to stop. I could see my friends and coworkers arriving for their daily assignments through to corners of my dripping eyes. Each respectfully passing us as we stood on the stoop of our office on Canal streetat the entrance to the Holland Tunnel. My boss affirming me of my good qualities reiterated:

“Don’t drink, just go home and eat something, and Call me this afternoon!”

Battling my emotions and my alcoholism I said “Okay” and began to walk towards the train. With my head a wash with thoughts I fought my feelings, traveling on auto pilot and unaware of my surroundings I planned the rest of my day:

“Alright! let’s go home and drink!”

“But you have to do at least one load of laundry.”

“What are you going to eat today?”

In its lonely ride north the uptown local seemed quicker than its bustling counter part I had rode not an hour before. With head and heart down I forced myself to pass by my beer deli so that I would have to come back out after grabbing a pile of dirty clothes. Regardless of the head battles I had on my hour or so trek home I had resigned with excitement to drowning the minuet I heard:

“I want you to go home.”

With no sense of rush I opened the door to my 10×10 room dropped my tool pack on the bed, sifted through some dirty laundry, and then used the door of my mini fridge to push aside the wall of empty aluminum cans and cardboard pizza boxes. I was already overwhelmed with everything, no need to worry about laundry as well.

I counted eight beers plus the one in my hand a relief knowing that it was enough to get me started before having to go get more. A few texts to my little sister asking her if I could stay with her for a couple of days, confirming a breakfast date for Thursday and an email to my boss asking for the phone number witch I had no intention of using of his cousin whom he had introduced me to and who had taken me to an A.A. meeting several months before.  I also informed him that I would not be into work tomorrow but should be back at work on Friday.

With my responsibilities taken care of, I was free to drink and drown in my sorrow and that is exactly what I did. Having already exhausted all friends and family members to drunkenly call, I called the NYC quit line. I had become beyond lonely and just wanted to talk with someone, anyone. Whomever I did speak with was very helpful by listening and they did all they could to help a wasted  alcoholic guy calling a quit smoking help line…

Thursday, 21 October 2010

 The familiar emptiness deepened on the 6^th floor of 545 Edgecombe with the sight of the  now risen sun greeting all of New York through my Westside facing window in Washington Heights. Already pondering how to get out of meeting up with my Sister the text messages began to come in… Her, most certainly zapped of energy getting off from working the twelve hour night shift ten or so streets to the North of me at NYP.

“Hey, so do you want me to come over or should we meet at the train?”

“Think I need to get some more sleep… can we meet up later?”

“No Tom, C-mon!”

Tears welling as I looked opposite the three foot pile of empty cans that had become the only visible floor, my cloudy eyes gazed at the water stained plaster ceiling. My phone began to play a soft Irish tune, A smiling picture of my lovely sister poped up with her nickname below… I tried my very best to get out of meeting up with her assuring her that I was fine and that I would see her later that night. She wasn’t having any of it, she had heard it all before, I had hurt too many times, she wouldn’t let me cancel on this breakfast date. So after assuring her that it didn’t make logistical sense for her to come over or for us to meet up at the train station I convinced her to just catch the C and I would do the same.

“Hell, we’ll probably end up on the same train anyways…”

“Okay, but bring clothes for a couple of days and your work stuff.”

“Okay Beak, see you soon.”

“Okay Tom, see you soon…”

I could hear the hesitation in her voice clearly, she didn’t believe me, my little sister had lost faith in her big brother. I can’t even imagine what her 30 minuet train ride to Midtown at the peak of rush hour must have been like, being so close to me, looking on as all but her brother boarded at 163^rd street. My heart rips thinking of it now.

“I love you Tom…”

I being just as convinced as the week before when I asked her if I could stay for a couple of days that I just needed to “Dry Out” for a bit, picked at some clothes and decided that I would appease her my way and just have one of our enjoyable breakfasts together to let her know that I was okay before returning for home for another drink. A quick count of the remaining cold beers in order to roughly determine how much I had drank the day before and being somewhat proud at the low stockpile I grabbed a frozen pack of Parliament Lights out of the mini fridge. Lighter, wallet, phone and keys I begrudgingly left the apartment with a change of dirty clothes and work tools sitting on the twin mattress just where I had thrown them the day before.

I called my sister from ground level on 48^th street thinking that we would just be off to Giorgio’s for some grub.

“Why don’t you come up Tom, you can drop your stuff off…”

I climbed the six flights of pink walled switch backing stairs to the buzz of failing florescent lights and knocked on the door.

“Come in”

My sister was wearing her sweats looking pretty as always in her glasses, I could tell that she was probably more tired than I.

“Hey, how are you?”

(big hug)

“Where’s your stuff?”

“I’m okay… I left it at home… I should have brought it… I’ll get it later…”

It was apparent that we weren’t going to go out for breakfast but she made us some eggs and had picked up a couple of fruit bowls. There wasn’t a lot of skirting around the elephant in the room for it was apparent that I wasn’t okay and having asked her for help the previous weekend then blowing her off so that I could have my two full days of drinking we started talking more seriously. We had had these conversations before but they had gotten to the point where I just sloughed them off being in an odd confident even proud state of my “functioning” alcoholism completely oblivious to the hurt I must have been causing. This conversation was different, my sister was serious, she was hurt, she was teary, she was firm.

“You are loosing me Tom.”

I knew I needed help, I knew I wanted it, I had been asking for it but I also just wanted to go home and drown. I knew this was serious and gave my little sister the respect she deserved and spoke with her honestly.

“I, I know I have to stop drinking… I, I think the only thing that would work for me is going away… I don’t think I can do it any other way…”

“Is that something you would be open to Tom? Is that something you would do?”

“I don’t know what else to do, I can’t trust myself not to drink…”

My sister is such a perfect caregiver, just listening, being supportive, loving.

“Do you want some toast?”

It was just what I had needed, real food; eggs, fruit white toast smothered in butter and the unconditional love of the only one that would still ask me to breakfast.

She told me that she had been really worried about me since I had called her the previous weekend and that she had been talking to her boyfriend about it for her own well being.

She informed me that his cousin whom she had meet a few weeks before runs a treatment facility in Denver CO and that she had spoke with him about me.

“So that is a good resource, we have if you want Tom…”

Again with the love behind my back, she wasn’t forcing anything on me, we were just talking and hanging out. I reluctantly agreed to accept her offer at my prior request to stay with her for a couple of days so that I could get some good dinners in me and stay away from drinking for a little bit. I knew it would be the best thing for me to do especially if I wanted to keep my job not to mention the only friend in a city of 8 million that I had left.

“Okay, so I’ll go home and just get my tools and some clothes”

“Do you want me to come with?”

Her having already worked two nights in a row, I could see the z’s poring through the slits of her eyes. I told her that I would be fine and that she should get some rest and that I would just take the train up, get some things and then right back down again. She wearily let me leave.

“Just come back Tom! Please come back!”

I was brought to tears this morning at just how beautiful life is. Riding my bike North on San Juan Creek Road with my hands stuffed into the pockets of my hoody, back strait, head tilted and eyes closed. I was reminded of the scene from “Dances with Wolves” Where John Dumb Bear throws his arms back and Cisco proudly gallops across the battle field. I wanted to mimic the motion as the acceptance of life took over my body, my Bike “Rusty” steadfast and sturdy as I gave myself to the moment. I have had this feeling before over a beer and a discussion with a vagabond in a NYC bar, it is the immensity of life hitting you when you least expect it. It was an empowering experience of surrender. I had to pause and search for just what had hit me as my eyes fought the rising wells. As I realized what was happening I took peace deeply into my lungs. Life had once again started to live inside of me.

The swooshing waves glisten as I notice the sparkling tiles of 34^th street increase there way up as I head back down into the tunneling thoughts of that green room.

 Surf-Liners expressly blow their whistles while we keep it locally loco. Military birds chop through the air as we challenge them with Bubble Copters. A couple on vacation argues from the tunnels just after Penn  all the way to Canal were I exited with a couple who took a chance and boarded  at West 4th and found their destination one stop away. I wanted to say to the first couple that her husband was being a jerk and that you are right! “Two more stops till Brooklyn Bridge!”

 We discus the more important things in life as we try to find a comfortable balance between Vitamin-D and Skin Cancer.  We are richer than any one around and we swim in our friendships turning the ocean into our Ramada.  Like whales we return to the same great spot with the same great people year after year!

 Judgment takes it’s shoes off for a week.

 Nightly sunsets that will continually knock you off your feet, each one topping the other as more show up and travel on. A freight train breaks slowly in the night as the camp fire roars with conversation. Booming waves silenced by its sudden lurch forward as though cannons were being fired all they way down to San Clemente. We become vagabonds and imagine stowing away as Jon tells a story of a Russian train ride. We recede to our tents bare footed and sun kissed as the tide raises its voice and sings us to sleep.

The weekends are the worst for me. I stay awake until sunrise letting every little thing remind me of her. I know I should be soundly asleep on my wall side of the bed with her watching me but instead I am in the middle letting commercials torture me with thoughts of why is she not here and why am I not with her anymore. What happened? How could something that seemed and felt so rite just stop? I guess I made too many promises of dreams in the beginning. I still want them to come true.

Ultimately it had to be my drinking that once again shoved her out of my bed while letting thoughts of her remain in my head as to tease me. It may have been the first time that I stayed over at her parents house for the weekend and had her drive me back to the train station early on a Sunday evening when she started to cry while we were waiting for the train, she asked me if I was going home so that I could drink, I said no that’s not why I am going home but yes I would probably drink… I told her that it was probably smarter for her not get involved with me for fears that I would break her heart too. I began to cry as I started to feel what she was feeling. It was a hurt as if we were being torn apart. We were already deeply involved and I think it snuck up on both of us.

So we continued our weekends together mostly here in New York but occasionally in New Jersey. I don’t know if I got to really know her or not but I am pretty sure she got to know me despite my inability to express myself on a personal level I think I am very easy to read. Who knows maybe I am wrong. I say that I am not sure that if I got to know her or not because of a txt fight we had gotten into some moths after we had been dating.

“You don’t love me! You don’t Even Know me!”

That one still hurts

I guess I let my selfish brain focus too much on my own upward roller coaster while my heart fell deeply in love with her. I put her a seat back from me instead of sharing the thrilling front car with her. We had so many plans and dreams, I guess I just wasn’t quick enough on my feet to keep up with her.

It was always kind of awkward for me whenever I went to New Jersey to see her, not because I didn’t love her but it I was always completely out of my element and I had no safety net but her. I should have used it as apposed to retreating into my uncomfortable. I hated the silence moments we sometimes shared in the car when she would ask  “ What’s Wrong?”  and I wouldn’t have an answer. I didn’t know what was wrong other than me being in an environment that I could control.

I miss the lucid moments when I was holding her and could feel oh my God this is good! A good feeling that could bring me to me knees. It hurt and she was here! Now it just hurts and I clasp one of the pillows she bought for me, watching people vanish on “With out a Trace” on the  13 inch T.V. she lugged up from New Jersey for me. It is 4:00 in the morning…

I think I now finally know what true love feels like and I am for the first time heart broken over it.

Does it go away? Or is it one of those things you just have to push aside?

Mark Twain

An exceptionally groggy morning for me after working late last night and the rest of the week finally catching up to me before the 7:00 0-clock alarm trying to squeeze a few more zzz’s in before giving up and turning up the volume on the still lit T.V. I light up a Parliament and begin the day With Marideth and Matt Lower on Today. I swear it could be groundhogs day as far as my apartment life is concerned, I dig through a pile of dirty laundry and luckily  today found some clean stuff…

I wet and comb my hair, shave, then brush my teeth. Today I sprayed my shoes with some bathroom cleaner because I need a new pair… And as I expected it bleached the sprayed parts giving my Chucks that classic orange stain. A quick check of wallet, cell phone, cigarettes, keys, and lighter I am down the elevator towards my morning deli for a large black coffee that costs a buck. I quickly remember that I need a Metro card and began to mentally dig through the pockets on my heavy back pack as to where I might find some loose change.  I give the MTA’s machine my last two dollar bills and reach into the penny jar. My single ride gets folded up and placed on the top of telephone booth that sits past the turnstiles and above the steps to the downtown C at 163^rd.

I cant remember what time it was but it was definitely the earliest train I had boarded in awhile meaning 7:42 as apposed to 7:53. I being still overly groggy retreated into my phone and played a game until around 72^nd street. My coffee now drinkable I sip frequently. Still in completely my own zone I took notice of an attractive woman entering the car on my uptown side. She was wearing black stretch pants and top. She had colorful tattoos gracefully placed on he exposed calves and shoulder. I was close enough to determine that the tat on her left shoulder was the “Dark Side of the Moon”

She had an accent and was asking the 65 or something year old lady at the end of the car for directions I was able to make out their muffled conversation Via body language and lip movement. A guy leaning on the door informed her to get off at 42nd contradicting what the lady had said and was dead on. We made eye contact after that and I let my eyes shy away. She balanced her way through the swaying car and came over to me as if there was a subway map behind my head. I looked up and back to see only an add. somewhat back into my thoughts as I could notice her looking over at me… Barely out of the  42^nd street station she started to talk to me.

“Excuse me, do you know the area very well?”

I wobbled my hand in the so so manner and she briefly frowned away until I said

“Why what’s up?”

“I am going to the Westside Village and looking for Greenwich Avenue.”

Beautiful accent!

I confirmed the elderly ladies directions an ensured her that West fourth was the stop for her. I wanted to bust out the MTA subway map I had on my phone but didn’t want to be embraced if it didn’t show Greenwich Ave.  I should have because it does…

We shot the shit meanwhile having moments of great eye contact. I asked her name and she responded;

“Kerem, it means Vinyard”

“Sababa!”  (Awesome…)

She was impressed by my knowledge of Hebrew

I smiled and nodded as I started to understand that this chick was into me.  A few misplaced words and I was typing her number into my phone…

“My name is Tom By the way”

“Tom” (Kerem)

“Pretty simple huh?” (me)

“Tom and Kerem!

Her eyes were extremely clear like an old window. Pupils dilated and focused right on mine. She was either on something or just one of those supper rare chipper chicks… Fuck she had to be on some kind of really good anti-depressant or pain killer to find my un-kept ass attractive.  Her third sentence to me was;

“You have a beautiful face!”

Nice pickup line! I may have blushed but thankfully it didn’t stick.

“Thank you, you do too.”

We exchanged quite a bit of information on her five stop ride. So much so that we were ready to ride the C all the way to Euclid Avenue and back again. We almost did until the doors bing-bonged and she said:

“Oh Shit! West fourth!

Turning around on the platform to say a quick goodbye…

She darted out.

Fuck! My phone didn’t remember her number!

I exited the next stop on the C and climbed the stairs with everyone else onto Spring St. I   called my voicemail before sitting on the stoop of my office ten minuets early.  I used those ten minuets to try everything to get her number back…

Gone, and here I am two days later thinking about posting flyers of myself on 48^th between 9^th and 10^th saying

“Kerem, its Tom!  I lost your number! Call me!                 Why  not?

It is the music that hits just as you began to realize you are having a good moment. It catches your hips and makes them move before your brain can catch up and before you know it you are walking your dancing partner quietly into the atrium of everything and two more steps into now.

Every now and again you catch yourself having a good time then continue to fall all over your feet, stumbling into the past only to thrust your self back into the future, following your feet as they kick up dust into the stars creating contrails of nebulas in your wake. 

 For you are but a probe that is dancing in my space.

Writing pages of ink with your feet all across my great pictures.

Your soul stamps them well.

You are the art that adorns the inside of my heart. My ears ring and ten bucks latter I am three of the same T-shirts heavy.

I just had another great NYC weekend with my girl. She came up Friday night and we did the Chinese food and movie thing. Up early for a Saturday and Google-ing NYC street fairs. Perfect 8^th Ave. between 14^th and 23^rd, we put on our Saturdays best being sure to wear a long sleeve just in case, all of the Andrew Jacksons I have into the wallet and we were out the door.  It was really kind of cool to exit out the 23^rd street station to be welcomed by white tents containing all of lifes’ little things. First stop the sunglass hut, I got two for Ten and she shopped but didn’t buy. I have never seen so much jewelry in my life until I met Chrissy, not that she wears a ton but god damn do we look at a lot! So I steped away for a smoke and meandered my way to one of the other 300  Three-4-$Ten posters. Now $20 bucks down on the second block of the fair, how many streets is this again?

Why is it that when the DJ guy at a street fair plays one good song I go over and buy three CD’s that I have never heard of before? I ask the Guy what he recommends and then pick my own “Acapella  South Africa”  “Zouk” and “African Talking Drums” All great! $45 down, ouch… I did well for the next 4 streets or so only buying a pocket journal made from bamboo, a pink pink lemonade and breaking a five for some mother of at least that many. Chrissy  did really well at refraing, she spent $18 and walked out with four sets of ear rings an two cool hand made belts. $68 bucks and we still hadn’t eaten…

The sprinkles of rain caught in their own time lapsed still photo as I took a moment to notice this beautiful puddle.  I could be making it up but I am pretty sure I exited the ACE at 50^th on one of those poor-ing sprinkles kind of mornings we get here.

A beautiful rainbow that wasn’t created by light was actually a pretty good way to start the day. For it had been awhile since I had seen a rainbow, I think the last one that made an impact on me was last summer while working in the Bronx, and the Eastside of Washington Heights when they seemed to pop up all over the place… Fire Hydrants being the pots of gold!

Immediately bringing me to my happy place, It was a good thing that 8^th Avenue  was busy other wise there might have been a Burberry rain boot galooshing through a rainbow that I snatched with my phone…  Umbrellas everywhere! Popping up in your eye without even a hint of care. 50^th ST. ….

I Love rainbows for they make everyone happy, there is something about the light that makes them alive. To me rainbows are a pair of eyes, all four darting around all of the others colors, not looking at anything gold, just gilding there gaze into an unforgettable moment.

I am on a cliff that is laden with trees and I am over looking my many seas.

They churn my stomach they rock my heart they swallow my words and take my breath.

I follow my thoughts as they step of the cliff and into the rising sea air.

My body falls as my heart rises

I begin to see the white washing of light as my lungs exhale

I love you!

My belly begins to stings whilst I flop into your rolling eyes

I take a sea salted bath and let the ocean toss me around as if I was a sock

Your eyes coral my skin into stunning scares

I break free from your point and let everything I have seen wash my soul onto your shore as a smoothed piece of glass.

I look through the salted waters and my eyes burn as though your fire was near.

I sea rainbows and they lead me to your core that somehow fires my core.

New York has really changed me. I never would have even begun to dream that I would be walking through Penn station with a love interest at 7:00 on a Friday night. I have seen Imax 3D scenes of the vary same corridor that do little to show how I was feeling that night. The movies always seem to leave out the guys in front of Penn on 33^rd and 8^th who ask to buy a cigarette then pull out twenty three cents like they are doing you a favor. Cigarettes cost ten bucks a pack out here! That’s 50 cents a fag, so the next fucker that says “A Dolla! Come on man!”  gets the half smoked Parliament that I am smoking flicked at him!

Believe it or not the girl I am seeing found me on the internet! Nobody finds me on the internet, not even friends I already have. We sent a few emails back and forth then I introduced her to Skype and we did that a few times until the weekend after Thanksgiving when I invited her to a dinner With my Brother, Sister, and their significant whatever they ares… I met My girl in person for the first time at Penn Station for she is a Jersey Girl through and through minus the dark supper high hair bitchyness factor. So yeah I guess she only talks Jersey. Anyways after trying to find each other underground at NJ Transit, TGIF’s, the bathrooms track 12 I finally said I will meet you at the corner of 33^rd and 8^th Ave.  because she had mentioned an exit sign that said 8^th Ave. I hurried from the 7^th Ave. side of the first floor underground to the familiar escalator up to 8^th passing NJ Transit, TGIF’s track 12 and the bathrooms.  The automatic double doors opened to the fag barterers and I imeadiatly saw her puffing away flanked by a Halla and pretzel cart. The twenty yard walk towards to her was more than enough time to replay the thoughts that had been consuming my mind for the past two hours. Should I hug her? Kiss her? On the cheek? Don’t shake her hand oh god… Hi  Big hug, no awkwardness good start and back underground to catch the A,C or E to west 4^th. I should have just bought her a single ride to be a gentleman and all but instead we tried to buy a Metro card with her debit cad but were having all kinds of trouble when a great early 40’s black lady offered her metro card to us. We thanked her properly and were off to the turnstiles talking about how great she was. Soon enough we were on our way downtown thankfully it was only two stops for a long subway ride isn’t exactly a great first date.

We exited at West 4^th and meandered our way with all the others towards the southern most exit. Not 20 feet from the subway stairs she grabbed my hand and my insides began to smile. We walked through Washington Square up and over to Union Square with no awkward pauses in conversation.

It being not really but still kind of close to Christmas Union Square was decked out with all kinds of vendor booths, you know the kind that chicks just love! So having some time to kill before meeting up with my brother and sister in the East village we bumped shoulders with all of the other couples until we finished seeing all of the booths of overly priced cool shit! I almost bought a wooden frog but the sexy booth lady wrecked the sale by telling me I was rubbing it the wrong way.

We continued down to East 8^th and found the fancy ass restaurant te  that my little sister had picked out to find only my brothers ex girlfriend sitting lonely outside. I put my name in and the snobby as waiter told me twenty minuets.  We looked at the street menu written in French and patiently waited for the rest of our party. Once twenty minuets past our meeting time at eight had passed I called Kristen then Jon with no answer from either. Jon finally called back and said that he and Kristen split up and he was on Lafayette. I cursed inside and told the ladies it might be awhile but soon enough Jon Being the Colorado New Yorker that he is showed up to be the greater personality. He never disappoints! Soon after Jon’s arrival The couple that is Beak and Damon walked slowly down Saint marks toward us. We all said hallo and briefly discussed dinner options when Beak mentioned Yaffa  between 1^st and Ave A… We all agreed to forgo the overly priced French sea food and landed our six top with no wait at Yaffa.

Dinner couldn’t have been better, Kristen and Damon ordering themselves a bottle of wine Jon and Erin reuniting for the first time since she moved to NY some two months ago and me and my girl both getting Coronas. The food was great and awesomely cheap. Throughout the dinner I was able to go smoke and my girl did too. She fit well into my arms.

We all got desert and split the check without confusion. One more look into to her eyes on the back porch and we were all out of there on our way south a few streets to Houston were the Cleaners were playing. There was the typical drama that doesn’t need to but always does happen on nights out mainly on my part. Long story short me and my girl who is a self proclaimed non dancer danced or more so white people wiggled but still it was great!

We left the bar around midnight and walked with each other back to west 4^th I should have kissed her, she wanted me to but I was too shy, so we entered the subway and while waiting for the train I brought up how I should have and she responded with “yeah but its never too late”   so I stupidly said “ I am going to kiss you now”  I did and not five seconds into it some jackass said “get a room!” and I let it ruin the first kiss that I missed placed. We took the C Back to Penn Station and went for a smoke on 33^rd and 8^th .

I kissed her and she kissed back.!